


Until the Day I Die

by RealtaCuardach



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Lots of flashbacking, Modern AU, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealtaCuardach/pseuds/RealtaCuardach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm proud to be your servant, until the day I die." Immortal, Merlin waits around for his best friend and king to return throughout the centuries. When Arthur finally reemerges into the world, Merlin must keep him safe in a new way until the time comes to protect Avalon. Post series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Watching and Waiting

_Biting his lip, Merlin watched the boat float smoothly and regally through the water, the waves of grief, frustration, and disbelief crashing within his mind and seeping through his eyes. The arm of his love had long since disappeared beneath the lake, and Merlin felt himself long for her touch…for something solid and real that could ground him to the world that he felt was slipping away._

_There had been too many funerals, too much death. Merlin felt, in the confusing burst of rawness and numbness, that his eyes must have burned rust-red from the sight of all of it. When he had buried Freya, he had choked through the words; when Lancelot had been put to rest, he didn't have to speak. As the body of his closest friend floated away he couldn't even think of the words, all his thoughts riveted on the sedate flow of the water._

_It was too soon to say goodbye; letting go of his friend forever had felt like a jagged dagger was carving his heart out. But the sensation of his king going stiff and cold in his arms would ache even more. His heart was heavy enough without that additional weight to bear._

_His gaze, solemn, wet, and golden, stared resolutely out across the water, unaware of the chaos behind him. The magic flowed out of him, effortlessly, secretly, and sent whirlwinds behind him. The magic flowed out of him, effortlessly, secretly, and the tall dark-haired man stood, awe-inspiring and majestic in his grief as the untamed winds he unconsciously summoned swept about him, his threadbare coat billowing out behind him like a cloak and his hair flying. Across the forest, wolves howled their plaintive cries to the hidden moon and the leaves arose from the ground and tore from the trees and cloaked him in a mantle of green. But Merlin felt none of this, his entire being concentrated in the grieved, golden gaze he cast across the water and the wind rushing by his face –_

The hot gust of wind took the old man aback and he stumbled backwards in surprise as the lorry hurtled past, showing its displeasure with an indignant honk and a puff of diesel as it passed out of sight. Taking a slow, steady breath to calm his racing heart, the old man leaned against the fence bordering the road, his grip tightening around the strap of his duffle bag as he straightened the knit cap more snugly about his white hair. A group of young men were playing football across the street, and some had seen the lorry nearly run over the old man."Hey," one called out as the others swore in varying levels of vehemence, "you all right?"

"Morons," one of his friends grunted, punching a sweaty fist into his other hand, "think they own the road. Oughta have got the license plate while we had the chance. You want us to chase 'em down?"

The old man looked at the younger, strident with confident, righteous indignation, and with the blunt invulnerability of youth, and remembered another man from years ago. He smiled warmly, and with an odd reminiscence, he shook his head. "Never mind that," he assured them, "I'll just need to keep to my side of the road."

He continued on his way to the park, casting a glance surreptitiously behind him every few steps. The young men watched him for a ways, but without another lorry rushing by, they eventually left the elder to his business.

A warmth filled the strong heart of the old man as he walked away. "Selfishness of our youth…ha!" he snorted with amusement to himself as he remembered the message given by the dour-faced newswoman that morning on the telly. People were much the same as the ever were; some good, some bad, and the rest bouncing about from one to the other. People simply were.

The park had changed since he had been there last. The tall wood and steel playgrounds with crunching gravel underfoot had given way to brightly colorful plastic fortresses with soft turf underfoot. When he'd first walked about the perimeter of the pond at the center of the park, he'd had to shed his coat and sit on it to protect his trousers from grass stains. The last time he had visited, he had been sitting on an austere but sturdy wood bench, which had been replaced by some sort of fiberglass contraption, emblazoned with the bright colors of children's drawings. As he placed his duffle bag on the ground, the old man brushed his fingers against the engravings proudly proclaiming the handiwork of the children at the local school and smiled at the board sweep of the wings of the dragon one of the students had drawn.

The old man closed his eyes as the breeze swept over him, remembering the rush of wind at his face, the deep thundering of muscle beneath and around him, the grip of scale and cold blood pulsing below him. He stretched out his arms tentatively, remembering how his heart had dipped and soared as he'd traveled through the air.

"Didn't mean anything by it," a male voice nearly pleaded, and the old man lowering his arms in favor of listening intently.

"You never mean anything by it," an indignant female voice replied, with a huff in her voice that sounded like she was stalking away, "that's your problem, you you prat!" "Prat? What do you me- Elizabeth?"

_"How long have you been training to be a prat?"_

_"You can't address me like that."_

_"Sorry." A cheeky grin, a snarky bow. "How long have you been training to be a prat, my Lord?"_

A frustrated thud dropped beside him, shaking him from his thoughts. He looked to the side to see a young red-haired man looking both crestfallen and aggravated as he glared at the disappearing figure of a young woman. "Women," he huffed knowledgably, "can't figure them out. Bloody puzzles."

The old man chuckled gathered his coat more snugly about him. "But life would be so dull without the puzzles, wouldn't it?" He leaned forward confidentially and looked the young man in the eyes. "Let me give you a bit of advice when dealing with these puzzles."

The other man leaned forward.

"Find out what you did wrong and apologize," the old man grinned cheekily, "much easier in the long run."

"But I didn't do any-"

"Apologize anyway," he laughed.

The red-haired man grunted and folded his arms before sighing. "Fine. It's not fair, though. She'll never let me hear the end of it."

"They never do," the old man agreed, a sliver of regret at the back of his eyes, "but it's much better to have them around to tease you than to not have them at all."

The other's eyes grew sympathetic. "You missing your lady?"

"Going to see her actually," the old man confided sheepishly, "but it's been a long time since I've visited last. I'm not sure of my welcome."

"Oh." The young man thumped the elder on the back comradely. "Get her flowers, mate. Best way to deflect the anger – not likely to throw a vase that has flowers in it!"

"I've come prepared," the old man grinned, reaching into his duffel bag and pulling out a small wooden box with a wave pattern carved meticulously into the top. As the red-haired man leaned forward with some interest, the elder unlatched the box's clasp and slid the lid open. The younger's eyebrows furrowed and he pulled back, his eyes puzzled.

"Strawberries?" he asked, "Not even chocolate…strawberries?"

The old man picked up a strawberry by the green stem, rotating the red berry and examining with a fond smile. "Her favorites. She always asked for them when I wanted to know what to get her. They weren't as common when we were young, you see?"

"Oh," the other responded comprehendingly, "the War. My gran always tells me about the bloody rationing. Well-" the man got up, "-better chase that woman down before she does something stupid."

"And apologize!"

"And apologize," he agreed resignedly. "Thanks, mate. Good luck!"

The red-haired man walked briskly away, his strides breaking into a near run as soon as he felt that the old man could no longer see him. The old man chuckled and shook his head. Another thing that had not changed – love still made people fools. And that some people would go to any lengths to hide that.

The old man leaned back, closing the wooden box and setting it beside him, and with a bittersweet pang, remembered the first time he had given his love strawberries. It had not been during the War, but rather before the War. It had been long before many wars, certainly long before any wars the young man would have learned at school or on his grandmother's knee. The old man did not love war, but whenever the call for arms and God and country rang up, he would always find himself in its midst. He had soared in the air like a hawk with the RAF. He had huddled in the medical tents besides the battlefields, steeped in the smell of blood and sweat, his hands binding up wounds and sewing up gashes with a dexterous skill that his patients would call his magic. And if he often had his eyes obscured while treating them, the soldiers put it down to the dust and dirt and sweat that would sweep into an unprotected man's gaze. His hands had gripped the cold surface of a musket as he hid in makeshift shelters, and had even once wielded a sabre to protect the orphanage he was running. But over the years, none of the wars he had fought, none the loss he had endured—nothing compared to the fear he felt during that _one_ battle…where he had seen his closest friend cut down, even as he checked for survivors amongst the fallen. The old man did not care for war.

Glittering tears in his eyes shone golden before he wiped them away, and the old man continued to sit quietly on the bench as the sun made its downward curl to the horizon. He felt the sun's touch cool on his face and listened as the joyful shouts of children and the rumbles of people playing games on the grass slowly faded away.

When the moon had begun to silver the surface of the pond, and the man found himself all alone, he got up. With a careful glance about him, the old man shouldered his duffle bag on his back and began walking down the hill of the park where the perimeter was lined with tall, well-tended trees. With a slight bowing of his head and a quiet, unintelligible murmur, the old man's eyes glowed gold before he passed through a tree like smoke and vanished.

As he passed through to the other side of the tree, the old man pulled the duffel bag from his shoulder and let it loosely drop from his fingers to the ground. Pressing one hand against the gnarled bark, he took a moment to take in a deep breath and let it out. Just beneath the knotted wood, he could feel the thrum of magic that he had placed there years and years ago. He was idealistic and optimistic at times, a miracle considering the things he had seen, but he was not a fool. As people began to travel farther and farther from their homes, exploring and examining all that was different and strange, there was the increased risk that the lake might be discovered. There was an even greater risk that the discoverers might not understand that the lake and the castle should be left alone. He had not needed a book that night of the casting, for the spell was one of his own, spoken from the nearly unfathomable depths of his magic.

Despite the absence of coldness, his breath steamed out in a fog before him, coating him as pulled off his coat and beanie. With a care that was nearly reverent, he bent down to extract the wooden box of strawberries from his duffel bag before straightening and walking slowly to the shore of the lake. He sat down beside the water and, with a casual air, brushed his index finger and thumb across the grassy ground. A mature rosebush sprang up from the golden glowing ground, and the old man perused the dew-rimmed blossoms with care before selecting one and holding it securely. With his other hand, he elegantly wove the air into a gold cloth, which with a flick of his wrist formed itself into a little boat. The old man got to his knees and, after placing the rose gently into the golden boat, pushed the boat out into the water.

The boat traveled leisurely for a few feet before it stopped. Then a slender arm sprung forth from the lake, taking the rose as the boat disappeared into the air. A young, beautiful woman followed the arm, and she smelled the rose with a tenderness on her face that made the old man's heart ache. The young woman turned, her red dress flowing with the grace of the water itself, and she faced the old man. Her brown eyes lit up with joy and she made her way to the shore, stopping when the water came to just above her knees. "Merlin."

The old man pressed forward to the edge of the lake. "Freya."

Freya reached out as far as she could, and the old man edged closer, the water of the lake soaking through the knees of his pants. She reached out her hand for his, and he took it. "Oh, Merlin, it's been so long."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his head bowed, "I've meant to come back. I just…got distracted."

"As always," she quipped affectionately, "you've always been a wanderer – always trying to fix the world." Her hands left his to cup his face. "I've always loved that about you."

The old man leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Come now," she admonished, "after all this time, you surely can do better than that."

"Sure you want an old man kissing you?" he laughed.

Wordlessly, but with a compassion in her eyes that meant she had heard the sorrow at the back of his voice, Freya swept her cool fingers over his cheeks and face. Like water, the wrinkles and white beard were wiped away, and as she threaded her hands through his hair, the whiteness of his head shortened and became dark. The shadows around his eyes lessened, and his skin became firm and flushed. His eyes, which had been closed through her caress, opened and the gaze he was sending her sent shivers down her spines with its intensity. She let her lower lip protrude in that way he liked and immediately Merlin swooped down and held her in his arms, kissing her with a fervor that sent fire through their blood.

Her hands wrapped snugly about his neck, her fingers toying with the curls of hair that gathered beneath his head, as he ran his hands up and down her back, reveling in its real solidness. The fire soon cooled into a bittersweet longing, but the two did not let go of each other. Instead they held each other securely, treasuring in the warm breath and beloved heartbeat of the other. "I love you," Merlin whispered into her ear and her eyes watered.

"I love you, too," she replied quietly.

"I don't want to leave you for so long," he replied, "I don't deserve to have you waiting for me…"

"As you have waited?" Freya countered gently, pulling back to look at him and flushing as his muscles tightened, clearly unwilling to let him get away. "I have the Lake, Merlin, I can rest and wait for you. I know that you will always return to me. But you," she brushed her fingers over his cheek, "you wait in the world, without rest." Merlin shook his head in the nonchalant way that she remembered him doing when trying to keep her from worrying – a fruitless endeavor. "Merlin," she continued firmly, looking at the stiff expression on his face, "you don't have to be strong all the time."

_"Your highness," Leon said tentatively, "you need to rest. The king will be here, I'm sure of it."_

_"Leon," Gwen said solemnly, not taking her gaze from the window, "there's no need for titles. And," she took a deep breath, her grip tightening on the window ledge, "I fear you are wrong."_

_Leon swallowed hard and Gaius and Percival, who were standing in the background, stiffened in response to her words._

_"Gwen," Gaius ventured, "what do you mean?" He took a few steps forward, noticing the sudden trembling of her knees with concern._

_"I mean," her grip tightened and her eyes shut tight, "I think…I think he's gone."_

_"Gwen…"_

_She turned to face the others. "I know it sounds strange, but…I can't feel him. Not anymore. I just don't know-"_

_There was an odd rustling coming from behind the four, and all turned to look at the bedside table. Maps and papers and Gwen's hairbrush fluttered in the strong, strange breeze before falling onto the floor. Something fell to its place with a muffled clink._

_With the trembling in her knees intensified, Gwen began to walk nervously to the bedside table, Leon and Percival hovering nearby with their hands extended to her elbows. She sat tentatively on the bed before reaching out for the red, woven bundle. She thought the cloth felt familiar as she pulled it close to her, unraveling the bundle absentmindedly._

_The object fell into her lap with a heavy, final thump. Still holding the familiar red cloth in her hands, Gwen reached down to pick up the metallic object. It was a ring. It was a wedding ring._

_It was her husband's wedding ring._

_The recognition of the cloth came swiftly after, hitting her mind with an intensity that tears started to her eyes. She gripped the ring so tightly it nearly bruised her palm, and her fist tightened around the cloth, seeking comfort in its familiar warmth. "I had wanted…to be wrong."_

_"Gwen?" Leon asked, edging closer._

_Gwen simply held out the silver ring, and all the men in the room understood it in one. With an impropriety that none of them cared to comment on, Leon sat beside her and hugged his queen close as she broke into sobs. Tears came to the men's eyes as they listened to her grief augmenting their own, and Percival placed a warm hand on her shoulder. Gwen reached out to Gaius, and he came closer. She clasped his arm, her grip covered in the red neckerchief, and he held her hand tightly. She relinquished her hold on the cloth and gave him a sympathetic, pained look. "He's all right, though, isn't he?"_

_The two knights looked puzzled, but Gaius nodded. "I'm sure."_

_Gwen tried to smile, but it didn't reach her lips. "Good." And then she allowed herself to be swallowed up in grief._

_A tear fell into the bowl, distorting the image that Merlin had conjured through scrying, and he hated himself for not being there. He just couldn't muster the energy or the heart to leave the lake, not until the morning. Merlin put the bowl to the side and looked at the boat bobbing on the water, lit by the small fires he had conjured to float in the water._

_It was just before lunch the day after her coronation when Gwen heard a knock on the door. She gathered the quilt about her shoulders and stood up from the table where she had been looking over some documents. The servants had been giving her a wide, respectful distance, and the knights had been drawn aside by Leon. Therefore, her mind was racing and alone, and she needed something to take her mind off things. "Come in."_

_The door pushed open quietly and she looked over, expecting to see a sympathetic-faced maid bearing the lunch tray. Instead, she saw Merlin, standing there bare-necked and solemn-eyed. Gwen's breath caught in her throat, and she stood up, letting the quilt fall to the ground. "Merlin?"_

_Merlin nodded slowly, his gaze solemn, nervous, and guilty._

_Gwen rushed forward, and hugged him, her body shaking with relief and pent up sorrow. He quickly wrapped her in his arms and held her close. "I'm so glad," she said hoarsely, "that you're all right."_

_ _

 

_She had hoped he would be back, but the neckerchief binding the ring had frightened her beyond the pangs of grief at her husband's death. The neckerchief had seemed so final, like a goodbye, and she had feared she would not see Merlin again._

_"You're here."_

_"Of course, I'm here," he said, tightening his grip, "I wouldn't leave you."_

_Gwen looked up and her lips twitched into a weak, wavering smile before she broke down in his arms. Merlin held her close, gently rocking her from side to side as her sobs shook his body. They stood together for a long time, long after she had stopped crying, her wails fading into heavy sniffs, and let the realness of the warmth of the sun soak them through. "I'm sorry," he ventured after a time, "that I couldn't bring him back."_

_"I know you tried."_

_"I shouldn't have buried him without you there," he continued, "but it…it just seemed like the right place. I'll take you there as soon as I can," he promised, "and I'll do whatever I can to help with anything. Let me know what I can do, let me know when you want to go-"_

_"Merlin," she said firmly, and he looked at her._

_Gwen's face grew compassionate and her eyes looked concerned as she brushed the wayward bangs out of his face. "You miss him too. You don't have to be strong all the time."_

_The warlock looked at her with surprise before his shoulder began to buckle, almost against his will, and his eyes watered. He struggled with himself a tortuous moment longer, and then he let the tears flow. A deep, rasping sobbing filled the room, and as Gwen guided him towards a chair at the table, tears began to brim at her eyes. She helped him into a chair and then sat down beside him. Hugging her friend tightly about his shoulders, the two of them cried together._

Merlin tried to hide the tears from Freya, but she smiled and brushed them away. "You don't need to hide anything from me," she whispered, "never have to hide anything from me. Including," she smiled, her eyebrow arching, "those strawberries."

With a tear-laced bark of laughter, Merlin reached back and presented the box to her, looking like a knight offering homage to his lady. "For you."

She took a strawberry daintily from the box before setting the box to float on the top of the water. Then with a smooth wave of her arm, the water of the lake curled up to the side of Merlin, forming a chair. She sat down on the chair and reached out for her love, holding him close. "I know it's been hard for you, my love," she said, "but it will be all right."

"So long," he murmured hoarsely, the unshed tears choking his voice, "it's been so long. Will it ever happen?"

"It will," she assured him, "I promise you."

"But when?"

Freya closed her eyes, feeling for her bond to the water, to the seas, to the Earth. "I'm not sure," she replied, "but it feels soon."

"Soon," he repeated, the word echoing in his mind like a mantra.

_Soon, soon, soon…_


	2. One Man, Many Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time is now, but it didn't turn out in quite the way Merlin was expecting.

The middle-aged man sitting at the table in the corner of the café stretched his neck before reaching for his cup of coffee. His hands wrapped around the warm surface of the ceramic cup and he sighed with appreciation at the warmth and the fragrant aroma. He tilted the cup towards his mouth, the light of the morning sun catching and glinting on the lens of his wire-rimmed glasses and on the silver threaded liberally through his dark hair.

A dog-eared paperback was on his leg, the open pages balancing on his knee, but the man, watching the people passing to and fro on the street, paid it no mind. His eyes, although they held at their core a solemn understanding that was beyond his years, were lively and twinkled slightly with mirth at the antics of the people outside. A little boy and girl pulled away from their mother and began jumping in the puddles left from the morning's rain, brandishing their umbrellas like swords. When the little girl won, dramatically thrusting her sword beneath her brother's armpit, the boy collapsed, his hand clasped to his heart, and the man threw back his head with a bark of laughter.

"A professor."

The girl at the register looked appraisingly at the man sipping his coffee between the bursts of laughter. "You sure, Kate? Doesn't much look like a professor to me."

"But look at the book, Emily," the cook and proprietor continued, gesturing pointedly with her mixing spoon, "and those glasses…" she sighed dreamily.

"Kate!" The waitress whispered, partially affronted but mostly amused, "You're married!"

Kate smiled. "No harm in looking, is there?" She forked her hands on her hips. "Well, what do you think he does?"

The two younger women peered at the man, taking in his tall posture, his lightly muscled arms, and the tiny laughter lines beginning to form around his mouth and eyes. The waitress furrowed her brows as she looked contemplatively at his plaid shirt, the crisp black trousers, and the creased but well polished pair of shoes. "Businessman?"

Emily looked from behind the register and then stifled a laugh behind her hand. "At ten in the morning? Wouldn't he be doing some big business thing rather than drinking coffee and giving Kate something to gawk at?"

"Hey!" Kate snorted, "Don't forget who pays you!"

"True," Emily nodded to the waitress, grinning, "but now we got the blackmail possibilities…Jamie, you recorded this to give to Kate's husband, right?"

"Oh, get to work," Kate countered, waving one hand at her employees as a new customer walked into the shop, the old battered bell jangling loudly and cacophonously above the door. "Can we help you?" she asked.

The teenager slung his backpack more snugly over one shoulder as he walked up to the counter and leaned forward over the wooden surface. "Hey, Em," he said, "how's it going?"

"Tom," Kate barked, "What are you doing out of school? You're not playing truant, are you?"

"School holiday," the teenager replied with the smug satisfaction of one who has a trump card, "so I thought I'd go to the shops rather than stay home." He looked about curiously. "Where's Albie?"

Jamie rubbed furiously at her nose for a moment, and the cook's face changed from a parental skepticism to a solemn, apologetic gaze. "Oh, Tom," she began, "Albie's gone."

The backpack thudded quietly behind the wide-eyed teen, causing the waitress to step forward and the man in the corner to start almost imperceptibly. "Gone?" the young man managed to croak out after a few seconds, "Do you mean he's-"

"Oh!" Emily gasped comprehendingly from behind the register, "No, that's not it, Tom. He's just left."

"Left?" Tom took a few steadying breaths, "Well, that's better…but without saying goodbye?" The young man's jaw stiffened resolutely, but there was a hurt look in his eyes, and the man in the corner abandoned all pretense of not eavesdropping to look over with a sympathetic frown.

"It was all very sudden," the cook clucked soothingly, with a mother-hen expression, "He'd had a bad fall at his flat and his family worried that he might've broken something."

"He's in the hospital?"

"No," Kate's lips pressed together disapprovingly, "he's in a senior care home near his daughter. They're concerned that, at his age, he's liable to seriously hurt himself the next time he falls."

"But…" Tom began, "he could still live here – we could look in on him. He's not an invalid or anything." He kicked at the ground. "It's not fair."

"I feel the same," Kate agreed, "Albie may have been old, but he was sharp as a tack, and in excellent health for a man his age. For all the wrinkles and that terrible long hair-" she wrinkled her nose as she remembered the boxes of rubber bands the old man had gone through trying to keep the bushels of white hair away from the pastries and coffee beans, "-I wouldn't be surprised if the man could have outlived all of us."

The middle-aged man made a noise that might have been a snort of sardonic laughter, but no one noticed. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes against the golden glare of the sun.

Emily let out a breath of surprise as something in her previously empty apron pocket thumped against her leg. Reaching inside, she pulled out a small, thick envelope and read the script on the outside, her eyes widening. Her gaze went smoothly to meet with that of the man in the corner. The man nodded slowly before returning to his coffee. "I…almost forgot," she began, looking at the teen, "Albie left a letter for you."

Tom looked at her with surprise and quickly grabbed the envelope. "Where did he leave it?"

"He…" Emily's eyes darted about surreptitiously as she tried to come up with a reason without looking like she had to come up with a reason, when she noticed the man fiddling with his key ring. There was another thump in her apron, and she reached in to fish out a key, which she held triumphantly out for them to see. "He gave me his key a while back when he was out of town, so I could check on his cat and plants. I never got a chance to give it back to him."

The waitress sniffled and rubbed at her nose again. Kate thought on that. "I don't imagine that cat could go along with him to the home…I wonder if his family took it."

Emily glanced at the man in the corner, who was now checking through his pockets for change and shaking his head in an irritated fashion. "No, she's still there."

"Poor Amy," Kate said, dabbing at her eyes; she was an animal lover, "all alone in that flat."

Tom glanced up from the letter. "Name's not Amy," he countered, grinning weakly. "It's Aithusa."

"Nonsense," Kate answered. "Who ever heard of a name like Aithusa?"

"Albie did – he's the one who chose the name, wasn't he?"

"I wonder," Kate answered with a jokingly disapproving tone. "It rather sounds like some strangeness the younger generation goes in for." The glance she aimed at Tom made it all too clear which of the younger generation she held responsible for the travesty.

Tom maturely crossed his eyes at the accusation, although he waited until Kate had looked away before he did it. "He said Aithusa," Tom pressed, "and that's what he meant. It sounded like the name of a mystical creature or something – maybe a big dragon with wings that spread out into the sky!" Tom got a blissful look on his face, and the women remembered how excited he was about going into the air force after he graduated.

They also smiled a bit poignantly as they remembered Albie, with his apron and his hair flying akimbo sitting outside with Tom many afternoons, the two of them talking about his future. The old man had mentioned once or twice that he liked to avoid war if he could help it, but he had been nothing but supportive of Tom's dreams – something very much needed when his mother was loathe to let her only child go off into the services where he could possibly get killed.

"Aithusa, it is, then," Kate said softly. "Although I do prefer Amy myself…such a lovely white cat deserves a lovely name."

A deep, shuddering breath drew their attention to the teenager reading the letter. "What does he say, Tom?" Jamie ventured.

Tom returned to the letter and sniffed heavily. "He says, he's sorry that he had to leave and wished he had a better chance to say goodbye. But he says that everything will be all right. He says he's-" the teen sniffed even more heavily and his jaw set more resolutely, "-proud of me." Tom's fist tightened, nearly crushing the letter before he noticed his mistake. He placed the letter carefully down on the counter and gripped the ends of his jacket. "It's not fair! We didn't get to do everything we wanted to."

"Such is the lament of all men," a voice said smoothly but kindly behind them, and they all jumped to see the man walk up to the counter, bills and coins in hand. "Forgive me," he apologized, "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"That's all right," Kate said briskly, rubbing her hands on her floury apron, "will you be needing anything else?"

"Just paying, thank you," the customer replied with a smile before he turned to Tom. "I'm sorry to hear about your loss."

Tom put the letter on the counter before shoving both hands in his pockets. "Thanks," he said, almost grudgingly, "but he's not dead."

"That's good to hear," the customer continued, "but him not being around is hard too. I lost one of my good friends a while back, and there are still days where it almost hurts to remember him, I miss him so much." He placed his money on the countertop and Emily slowly took it. "I've never met this man – I'm guessing that's him?" He nodded towards a picture over the coffee machine of Tom and the four employees of the shop after their annual Christmas party, where an old man with white hair had his arms around the shoulders of Tom and Emily. "But I can imagine it was hard for him to leave you all, especially since it's not likely he would ever forget you." He seemed to be considering whether or not to raise up a hand to clap on Tom's back but thought better of it, and instead he met the teen's gaze, man to man. "The thing that would make him the happiest, though, is that you would go on to do whatever you dreamed of doing even though he's not here."

Tom sniffed and shrugged, but there was a new determination in his eyes that had been absent before.

The customer laughed at himself a little, stepping away. "Or at least, that's what I think. Sorry for interrupting." He nodded at them. "Have a good day."

The four watched the man leave, a smile starting to tug at the corners of Tom's mouth as he picked up the letter to reread it. Kate swooned slightly after the man. "So sensitive."

"I'm calling your husband!"

"Jamie Collins, don't you dare!"

Emily, however, continued to watch the man walk away with a sinking sadness in her heart. But then, the now-familiar feeling of her empty pocket filling broke her out of her stupor and she pulled out a balled up piece of paper. Glancing around to see if anyone was looking at her, she slowly opened up the ball of paper into a sheet and read the words on the page.

She smiled.

~.~

The middle-aged man sat on the park bench, a bag of popcorn on his lap, and inclined his head slightly toward Emily as she walked closer and sat beside him. He tossed a few kernels to the eager pigeons clustering hopefully around the park fountain, and then turned to offer the bag to the young woman.

"I'm good," she smiled, waving her hand, "I didn't know you were coming back."

He shrugged one shoulder idly, "I didn't want to end it with that goodbye."

"Not much of a goodbye," she snorted, trying to avoid expressing the layer of hurt deep within her tone, although from the knowing, sorrowful gaze he gave her, she probably failed.

"I'm sorry," he replied, turning his gaze to the greedy pigeons who had returned to the source of their food. He threw a handful of popcorn, which seemed to ride the breeze like a wave, carrying the food far far beyond the two on the bench. "Goodbyes are hard."

"I'm going to miss you," Emily replied, nodding, taking hold on his hand between and squeezing it, either to comfort him or to comfort herself. She wasn't sure which. She took a deep breath. "I will never be able to thank you enough, Albie."

One particularly loud pigeon was complaining as it tried to reach a large kernel beneath the bench, and Emily waved her hand dismissively. Both parkgoers watched the popcorn arc smoothly though the air and land on the other side of the fountain. Albie smiled the warm smile of a proud mentor and nodded with approval. "Well done."

Emily sniffed and removed one of her hands to wipe surreptitiously at her eyes. "I would never have been able to do that without you."

Albie had remembered the pull that had led him to the coffee shop those three years ago. He had known the feel on his heart, the brimming of magics mixed with confusion and trepidation, and it had pulled him so hard that he had felt it two villages away. He had answered the call time and time again. At the time, he hadn't been attached to any place, having just finished helping another person with magic find themselves in the chaos. He had been bundling about, staying at shelters and churches, trying to figure out where he wanted to go, when the pull had made the decision for him.

A nostalgic smile tilted his lips as he remembered walking through the door and listening to the battered bell ring his arrival. The smile of the brunette behind the counter had been sweet but reserved, and she seemed unsure of herself as she maneuvered the coffee and sugar in her station. As she'd handed the change back to him, there had a sudden rush of energy beneath their skin, somewhat akin to an electric shock, and Emily had jumped back. He had felt the magical reciprocation, but had hidden his reaction beneath a slightly doddery smile as he gripped the change in his veined hands.

As Emily had regained her composure and had tried to hide her surprise beneath her shop smile, the old man had seen the piece of paper fluttering at the edge of the counter, advertising for another employee to help in the shop, and smiled. "Miss," he had begun, pulling up the piece of paper for her perusal, "is this position still open?"

Kate had been a little skeptical when she'd been called from her baking to interview the old man looking for a job, but she'd put on a polite smile and offered him a few days trial period before deciding on whether or not to hire him on a permanent basis. His movements had been a bit slow but sure, and he hadn't broken any cups or dishes – something that had given him a leg up on most of the applicants to the shop over the years, including Emily, as she had laughingly pointed out to Kate when asked about Albert's progress. But the final decision to keep on Albert – "call me Albie" – as an employee had been made on the afternoon of the second day he was working. One of their particularly more fussy customers had been complaining over the lack of variety of coffees but had finally been mollified into trying one of the newer blends by Albie. She had then turned around, not looking where she was going, and had plowed straight into a young teenager, spilling the coffee over the both of them in the process.

Fortunately, neither had been seriously hurt, the coffee having oddly enough landed at a strange trajectory so that neither had been hit by the hot liquid. Unfortunately, she had begun tearing into the teenager, railing on about the carelessness of the day's youth and how they had no respect. The other occupants of the shop had looked on with shock and varying levels of disapproval, and Kate had looked about half ready to tear off her apron and jump into the fray.

Smoothly, Albie had slid in between the two and had settled the troubled waters between the two. With calm, soothing words, he had steered both of them to a table near the counter and had begun to calm them down. Within ten minutes, the fussy customer had been smiling and listening to the young teenager as she sipped a cup of coffee, and she had even patted him approvingly on the shoulder as he got up to get her some more sugar. Albie, after being assured that they wouldn't start throwing sugar or coffee cups at each other, had surreptitiously retired to his spot behind the register and waited for the next customer.

"You," Kate had exclaimed after they'd closed, hugging the old man tight, "are an absolute treasure."

Emily had to agree, although for reasons she would probably never disclose to her employer. Even as she sat beside the younger Albie, she could remember the shock of fear she'd felt as she looked into his deep blue eyes after stopping a glass pitcher from falling. From across the room. With her powers.

No one but her parents had ever known that she could move things without touching them, or make things happen simply by speaking about them. Even they didn't know the full amount of what the strangeness within her could do; her father was particularly suspicious about the government and muttered, when he thought his daughter was not around to hear, that he didn't know what might happen when they'd found her. After that, it had been easier, albeit more terrifying, to pretend that the powers had gone away near her folks, and to panic about them in secret. She was a sensible sort of person, but after seeing so many terrible scientific centers on the television and in films do terrible things to people like her, she didn't like the idea of opening up and showing anyone her magic.

She had looked at Albie with fear, but he had simply smiled, his eyes flashing gold, and the pitcher had moved more securely to the center of the table. And that was that.

Albie had developed an odd limp a week after she had accidentally shown him her magic, which had required one of the other employees to see him home to make sure he didn't do himself an injury. Since Emily lived closest to him, it had fallen to her to do it. He had played the part well, although Emily had noticed wryly on a few occasions that he forgot to put the cane down before stepping. It was in the evenings after work, after she'd seen him home, that he'd taught her, shown her how to control her magic and let it flow in the ways she wanted. He'd shown her books, demonstrated techniques for smoothing out the roughness in her magic, and talked her through the nights where the burden she carried was so great that she had to cry out the fear and anxiety; but above all, he'd taught her to view the magic she had as a gift, and not as a danger as her father had made her believe.

"That's not to say," Albie had continued one night, after patiently allowing her all the time she had needed to dry her eyes and compose herself, "that people will not fear what they don't understand – they often do. But, there is no need for you to fear it. Fearing a part of you is the best way to corrode yourself from the outside in."

"Has that ever happened to you?" she had quavered in response, moving a damp, handkerchiefed hand to his arm and squeezing.

"On occasion," he'd replied solemnly, "but more to others that I have met. There's one person in particular-" he shook his head at the memory, "-that I still wonder if I couldn't have done something more to help her – something to keep her from becoming what she became."

Albie had certainly liked to help people, and he was so secretive about it, too. People who would stumble into the shop in the mornings, their bodies worn and nearly stooped from the weights of life and blindly seeking the salvation of caffeine, soon became coming in with more cheery faces. It was not uncommon to hear excited retellings of business deals going right or a boyfriend finally getting the courage to propose or the maintenance problems of a house being easily resolved. Kate began laughing often at such happy accounts, and liked to claim loudly that it might be her coffee and baking that did it. During such boasts, Emily would often raise her eyebrows at Albie, who only would wink cheekily at her before resuming whatever task he had been done.

Only one regular customer continued to have less than optimal days; he still entered with his shoes muddied as often as not, and often complained that his body just couldn't take all the stress his work was giving him. It may not have been a coincidence that the customer had made a very unwanted pass at Jamie, the waitress, and that she had been too embarrassed to say anything about it.

"You wouldn't be helping that misfortune along, would you, Albie?" Emily had asked one night after the customer's day had been more rough than usual.

"Certainly not!" Albie had been mock affronted as he put down the notes he was about to give to Emily, "I would not do such a thing – it gets too messy in the long run." His eyes had looked somehow both amused and sorrowful. "No, I just let things run their course."

Emily had kissed him on the cheek, and had laughed when his entire cheek flushed.

"Nonsense," Albie replied, breaking Emily out of her nostalgic stupor. "You are a clever, bright young woman. You would have figured out how to handle it in time, I'm just glad you didn't have to."

Emily rolled her eyes. "That's nonsense and you know it. You're far too humble for your own good, Albie." She blinked thoughtfully. "Is that your real name? Albie?"

"It's real for the moment," Albie answered, "but it's not my first name."

"And the way you look," Emily fiddled with the hem of her blouse in her lap, "is this the way you really look, or is the way you looked in the shop the way you looked?"

Albie thought on that for a moment. "You know," he laughed almost ironically, "it's been so long that I don't even remember now!"

Emily reached forward and took his hand, squeezing it. "Why didn't you work in the shop like this? Why did you make yourself look like an old man?"

_"I'm not sure I understand," Gwen had said as the maid closed the door behind her, leaving Merlin and the queen sitting by themselves in the royal bedchamber. "Why do you want to look like that?"_

Merlin shrugged. "What's the point in looking like anything, Gwen? Maybe I like long hair and creaking bones."

"I very much doubt that," Gwen snorted with laughter, "not after listening to Gaius complain about it for the past nine years." She moved her chair a bit closer to where her friend was sitting and closed her hand over his. "Merlin, is everything all right?"

"Of course," Merlin answered, "why wouldn't it be?"

"You were very quiet at council today."

The two had just returned from a long, arduous meeting at the Round Table, with not only the councilors but with the knights as well. After learning not only of Merlin's magic, but also seeing it at the battle of Camlann, Gwen had begun to put into works the process of having magic legalized once more. This decision had met with its expected share of balking and difficulty, but after weeks of deliberation and also seeing Merlin use his magic to help with healing injuries and rebuilding parts of the town that had fallen into disrepair, all had given their support for the change of legislation. This support was not without its snipes and casual disapprovals, but Merlin had taken it in stride.

Gwen worried that the continued open disapproval combined with the lingering sting of Arthur's loss might be finally taking a painful toll on Merlin.

"You'd think you'd be happy I didn't talk so much," Merlin joked back, "especially since I'm right next to you at the table. Lets you think without distraction for once."

"Merlin," Gwen said chidingly, "you know I value what you have to say, I always have." She frowned and rubbed the sleeve of the robe that he had transformed from his tunic. "And you know I'll always listen – why dress yourself up like an old man? You'll be breaking a few hearts by no longer being on the market, I can assure you."

Merlin winced for a reason Gwen didn't understand and shrugged casually. "Ah, well, they'll find someone better."

"Merlin."

"It's just-"

There was a knocking on the door, and Merlin stopped talking. Gwen frowned but turned to the door. "Come in."

Leon and Percival walked in quickly, closing the door firmly behind them. Both of them started a little to see the unexpected old man sitting beside their queen when they had been expecting the young former manservant, but they soon recovered. They had seen him, after all, a few times already - just not in the same thoughts as Merlin. "Hello, your highness, Merlin," Leon said, bowing slightly.

Gwen shook her head at him. "Please just call me Gwen, Leon. I get enough 'your highnesses' outside of this room. It's about to drive me mad!"

Leon and Percival laughed, but Merlin could only manage a weak smile. The two knights frowned and sat down across from the queen and her advisor, and looked carefully at Merlin. "Everything all right?" Percival ventured cautiously as he took off his cape and draped it across the back of the chair.

"I hope so," Gwen replied, giving Merlin a pointed but sympathetic look.

Percival leaned a bit over the countertop and looked carefully at Merlin. "Thought so," he replied with satisfaction to himself, sitting back.

"Thought what?"

Percival turned to Leon. "Merlin was the old man in the forest we met just before Gwen became queen."

Leon groaned. "Oh, the one who beat us thoroughly without any sword and then used us as a stepstool."

Gwen bit back a peal of laughter and looked mock disapprovingly at Merlin, who shrugged slightly but could not hide the burgeoning twinkle in his eye. "Hey," he replied, "that horse was tall and these bones are not."

Percival grinned. "Gave us a round thrashing, he did," he confided to Gwen, "and it was pretty impressive, even if it was humiliating. Gwaine was always torn between evening the score and buying the man a drink."

The mention of their fallen brother made everyone around the table stiffen a little, and Gwen reached across the table to grip Percival's arm sympathetically. It was a testament to how much time had passed, however, that they were soon able to speak again. "Owe you more than just a drink, though, Merlin," Percival continued. "Owe you a whole tavern's worth at least."

"Just stick with the one bottle," Leon advised, a wry smile on his face. "Doesn't need to get more than that before he's sloshed."

"Oy!" Merlin cried out, "No respect." He whacked his head on the table somewhat histrionically, and the others around the table laughed.

"In all seriousness, Merlin," Leon continued, once they had all stopped their much-needed laughing, "thank you. What you did at the battle-" he waved his hand in the air uselessly, "-it was incredible. You saved our lives."

"I'm sorry," Merlin bit his lip, "that I lied to you. I never wanted to."

"We know," Gwen said, "but you don't have to anymore." She smiled. "Actually, Merlin, I have a favor to ask."

"What is it?"

"Now that magic has been approved, people are popping up out of the woodwork all over Camelot," Gwen answered, "young people, elderly, children. There's a lot more magic in Camelot than we ever realized, but not a lot of knowledge of how to use it. Merlin-" she gripped his hand firmly making him look at her, "-would you help them?"

"Help them?"

"People with magic are going to be coming to Camelot now openly," Gwen said, "and there are many who don't know what to do with that gift. I ask you if you wouldn't mind teaching them." She rubbed his hand. "I know it must have been scary for you, Merlin, and it must be frightening for them too. But if there's someone like you to help people learn, to know that this legalizing of magic isn't just some hoax –" She took a deep breath. "Would you?"

Merlin smiled, and the vestige of the old man melted away seamlessly into the figure they all recognized. "Of course."

"Do you know if the Druids are coming?" Leon asked Gwen. "There's another group of people I owe my thanks to. It's been long past due."

As the other three began talking of the logistics of preparation for the onslaught of openly magical people to Camelot, Merlin thought quietly to himself. He thought of lessons to be taught and ways to develop trust. He thought of magic being used in the streets and of the good that could be done.

He also thought how lucky it was that he had been stopped from answering Gwen's question by Leon's appearance. There was no way that he could tell Gwen that it was his way of distancing himself from the Court, of distancing himself from the Merlin the castle had once known, not without hurting her feelings.

He was still Merlin. The magic was still the same, the power was still great. But he didn't feel much like the Merlin he had once been anymore.

"Albie?" Emily sounded a little concerned. "Are you all right?"

The man shook the memories from his mind. "Sorry, my mind was wandering about. What is it?"

"Why dress like an old man?"

"Because," he smiled at her, "that was who you needed. I could work with you and you could go home with me without any eyebrows being raised. It could let you see that magic can be used smoothly in your work, to help me. And besides-" his eyes twinkled, "-me appearing in that way would keep your boyfriend from getting unduly jealous."

"Albie!" Emily blushed, and then laughed, "Well, I suppose that's true. Kate was giving you some very appreciative looks back in the café."

"She was?" Albie blinked. "Oh, Lord."

"Where will you go now?" Emily asked.

"I'm not sure. Somewhere I can be of use."

"You're of use here, though."

Albie shook his head. "You're ready to be on your own, Emily. You can always call on me for help, if you need it."

"I suppose." Emily sighed, blinking back the wetness in her eyes. "What of Amy, though?"

"Aithusa," Albie maintained laughing. "Her name is Aithusa, and hopefully will always be so. If you wouldn't mind," he said more seriously, a pleading look in his eye, "would you take care of her? I'm not sure of where I'll be next and I'd like for her to be well looked after." _If only I'd done the same with her namesake,_ he thought to himself.

"Of course," she replied. "You will keep in touch, won't you?"

"Certainly."

"And Albie," she began tentatively, "what is your real name?"

He smiled. "Merlin."

~.~

Goodbyes were always hard.

Merlin was sitting in a pub in Ireland, nursing a pint as he waited for his meal. He appeared a bit younger than he had when he had said his proper goodbyes to Emily a few hours before, removing a bit of the silver from his hair and adding a bit more build to his arms. He'd found Emily like he had found so many people needing his help over the years, by the pull and call of their magic to his. No such feeling had pulled him here, but Ireland seemed a good place to rest and wait for the call of another's magic, or at least until the fire to travel once more entered his bones and he was off again.

Magic was still as much in the world as it ever was, but the earth seemed to have discovered, over time, that letting it rest in the bodies of mortals could sometimes be more a hindrance than a blessing. A Camelot ruled by Uther was not the only place hostile and distrustful towards magic, as Merlin had seen far more than he had cared to during his sojourn on the earth. England had exploded into a hysteria about witches, a hysteria that seemed more bitter and violent than even Uther's reign, and in time that hysteria had traveled over to the States. As much as the occurrences had brought back painful memories, Merlin had stayed in both places during the hysteria, offering support and solace and escape where he could. There were times that he had found himself in the flames serving as a scapegoat, intentional or otherwise, for the 'bewitching' of his kin that would then let them go free.

The discovery of the spell that could make his body disintegrate like ash into the embers, only to reappear somewhere far away and safe had been a bittersweet one. The joy that he could save his kin from a terrible fate was an immense one, but he could not keep himself from thinking of the innocent lives he could have saved had he discovered the spell sooner.

The earth had felt too often the burned and battered vessels of its magic, for it seemed that magic was manifesting itself less and less in mortal beings. Magic had not gone, however, by any means. It still found its way into some people, but mostly had receded into the earth, an undercurrent of wonder that manifested itself in miracles, coincidences, and unexplainable things.

The fear of magic had resigned itself into an almost mocking skepticism as the world had continued to turn, a fact that sometimes chafed Merlin but that he was mostly grateful for. It was hard enough for the people he found to come to grips with their magic even without the ever-present fear of discovery and bloody persecution. If he closed his eyes, he could remember all of their faces. He could remember sitting by a great fountain in Spain, holding a dark haired beautiful young woman as she rocked and cried that she was terrified of being a _bruja_ , of what her family might say. He could remember a little French boy who liked to dart amongst the upper class, his all-too-magic fingers bringing their wallets to his hands with effortless ease before Merlin had taken him in hand. He could remember holding the trembling hand of a surgeon who had accidentally brought a patient back to life whilst on the table when he'd heard of the unexpected death of one of his clients awaiting surgery. He could remember the angry young man who had been forever bullied for being different, remember pleading with him and begging him not to use his magic in anger.

He remembered them like the earth remembered its magic – constant, pulsing, deep within his heart.

When he didn't have anything pulling him in any one direction, he often would come to Ireland. It seemed that the magic in the earth was more blatant here, more likely to emerge in small, impish ways. The magic felt accepted, cherished, and was nearly cheeky in the ways it liked to toy with the people.

Merlin smiled warmly at the pub waitress as she laid his food on the table and shook his head as she offered to bring him another pint.

_It bloody well figures that you're in the tavern, Merlin. I'm just surprised that Gwaine didn't join you this time!_

Merlin took another gulp and sighed.

~.~

It was as he was walking along the road from the pub to the hotel he was staying at that night that it happened.

It was not so much a pull as a earth shattering collision within his being, hitting him with such great force that he stumbled forward, nearly falling onto the pavement.

"Steady on, there," a brisk, official voice said as an arm reached and steadied his elbow. "Had too much to drink?"

Nearly trembling from the aftermath of the force, Merlin shook his head. "No, no, I'm fine, thank you. I just need to get along to my hotel."

"All right, then," the officer replied, "if you say so, sir. Just don't cause any trouble."

"I won't," Merlin said quickly. "Thank you very much." And with that he nearly bolted down the street, his mind racing.

_This isn't the same as all the others. It's different – much, much different. But what could it be? Ack, if only Kilgharrah was here for me to pick his brains._

Merlin laughed a little to himself for falling on his old, old habits of asking the Great Dragon for assistance. He was already reeling from what had just happened; having Kilgharrah add more cryptic riddles on top of that would only complicate matters. It had been a long time since dragon wings had flapped over the earth anyway.

Instead, Merlin closed his eyes as he let his magic fan out in every direction, letting it settle and explore the world around him. In the past, he relied on the magic to point him in the direction of where he needed to go. This time, he knew even before the magic had begun to recede back into him. Checking around him to see that the alleyway was quite deserted, he gave a brisk nod of his head and vanished.

The trees rimming the park stood tall as they ever did, but seemed to almost brim with life and excitement, as though hiding more secrets behind the bark and branches. His breath nearly catching in his throat, Merlin's eyes glowed gold and he once more seeped through the tree's protection like smoke.

The lake was undisturbed, looking very much like it had the last time he had been to see Freya. Merlin had to fight back a bolt of disappointment, instead trusting in the magic that he could feel brimming and aching and bouncing just beneath his skin. It was here he needed to be. He shook off the trembling brought on by excitement and nerves and looked around, trying to see if Freya was nearby.

It was then that he saw it.

There was a small bundle of cloth by the edge of the lake shore. Water had lapped up gently on the dirt around the bundle, but there was a dry circle all around it. Merlin knelt down and picked up the bundle – and his heart nearly stopped at the weight and warmth of it. His heart thudding violently in his chest, he unwrapped the bit of cloth at the very top of the bundle and let it fall to the side. His mouth went dry.

In the bundle was a baby. A baby with a shock of blonde hair at the center of its head and familiar blue eyes that were blinking sleepily up at the person who had awakened him. Even through the sleepiness, there was a core of absolute trust that took Merlin aback. He had seen that look before, in those blue eyes, the last time he had seen them.

"Arthur…"


	3. A Tisket, A Tasket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin now has a baby Arthur on his hands. But he must decide what is the best for him

_The moment he had seen the lines that had formed between Gwen's brows deepening during the morning session with the knights had progressed, Merlin knew something was wrong. His worry flared into a near panic when she sprinted out of the room once the knights had retired, clapping a hand to her mouth._

_He followed swiftly behind her, wincing at the painful heaving noises she was making behind her changing screen. As he got closer, he could see his friend on her knees in front of a bucket, her face drawn and green and weary._

_"Gwen?" he began cautiously, "What's the matter?"_

_"It's nothing," she tried to assure, waving her hand. "The food this morning must not have agreed with me."_

_"Gwen," Merlin's voice was more soothing and firm now, "I know this has been going on. Why haven't you said anything to Gaius? He can help you."_

_Gwen shook her head, nearly sending her crown flying. "I can't! It's just nerves." She gripped the wooden sides of the bucket with both hands, looking like she was blinking back tears. "How can I let this bother me? I never get this nervous…I can't let Arthur down-"_

_Merlin got down beside her and took both her hands in this. "Never think that, Gwen," he said. "You will never let Arthur down. Look at how much you've accomplished. You've been so strong and so brave, Gwen. No one could do more for Camelot than you've done." Gwen gave him a scolding look that reminded him of similar glances he'd gotten when Arthur had still been more prat than prince and when Merlin had been selling himself short. She might only have been a maidservant, but even then Gwen's looks held a regal power that could have rivaled those of the bluest blood. "Merlin…"_

_"Got it, Gwen," he said, looking down. "Can I just look over you for a moment?"_

_Gwen sighed shakily and nodded. With infinite care, Merlin knelt down beside her and picked her up, sliding his arms beneath her knees and shoulders. His eyes glowed gold, and the covers unfolded themselves, waiting to receive their queen, as he walked slowly, trying to keep from jarring Gwen in her already pained state. He set her down carefully, making sure that the pillow was supporting her head and neck before removing her crown and placing it on the bedside table. "What's been ailing you?" he asked as he began probing and massaging her forehead with skilled fingers, smiling as the lines of stress and pain began to recede from her brow._

_"Tired," Gwen exhaled, "and I've been throwing up the past couple of mornings." Merlin set his teeth at the thought of her feeling ill all that time and having not said anything to anyone…or at least the maids not having said anything to anyone. Most of the time, he was glad that the maids who attended Gwen were so loyal to their queen, but he would rather have known. "Mary's checked my forehead," Gwen continued, relaxing beneath the cool press of the court sorcerer's fingers, "and I haven't had a fever."_

_"Still, Gwen," Merlin said reprovingly, "you should have let us know." His hands ghosted over her body, his magic examining her for any pain or soreness. It was when his hands absentmindedly glided above her stomach, that a sudden shock took him aback. As he ran his hand over her slightly protruding stomach, he felt the strange, strong tingling that sent the tendrils of his magic flooding with excitement back into his palms._

_"Gwen?"_

_"Hmm?"_

_"When you," Merlin rubbed the back of his neck, which was beginning to flush a dull red, "uh…when you came with Arthur to the battlefield at Camlann, did you go anywhere…else with him?"_

_"What?"_

_"You know," Merlin looked more sheepish, "to his b-aw, Gwen, don't make me say it. I still haven't gotten over the first time I walked in on you."_

_"Merlin!" Gwen squawked with embarrassment, her hand over her face. Then she stilled, removing the hand from her eyes. She looked up at her best friend with dawning comprehension and hope. "Merlin?"_

_Merlin sat down beside her on the bed and took both her hands, nodding. "Gwen," he said softly, "you're going to have a baby."_

_Gwen pulled herself up until a sitting position and let her hands wander down to her stomach, her eyes full of wonder. Tears of intermingled grief and happiness begin spilling down her cheeks, and Merlin got on the bed beside her and held her close._

_~.~_

_Gwen let out a yell of pain that bordered on a wail, and Merlin winced; partly from sympathy, but mostly because the grip she had on his hand threatened to crack the bones. As he continued to feed soothing and healing magic into his friend's aching body, he sneakily took a moment to send a strengthening spell to the aching bones of his hand._

_"You're almost there," Gaius soothed, although his brow was dripping with sweat. "Just a few more pushes."_

_A groan far too large for Gwen's frame filled the room, and the assisting midwife wiped her brow. "I don't think I can," she grimaced._

_"Come on, Gwen," Merlin said, rubbing the knuckles of the hand nearly breaking his. "You're so close. You can do it."_

_Gwen sagged back on the pillows and let out a shaky sigh before steeling herself and pushing with all her might. There was a long, loud scream that tapered down until it gave way to a thin, strong wail._

_"Well done," the midwife said with a brisk, motherly air. "You are the mother of a very handsome prince, your highness."_

_"Give him to me," Gwen beseeched, and Merlin squeezed her hand proudly as the midwife wiped the afterbirth off of her son. As the midwife approached with the baby in her arms, Merlin shifted a little out of her way, only to have Gwen pull on his sleeve. "Stay," she smiled weakly and Merlin complied, leaning back to allow the midwife to place the red-faced infant into Gwen's arms._

_"So handsome," she crooned tiredly as she held her little boy close, "like your father." She gave the baby a considering look and smiled. "I think your name should be…Alfred." Gwen bent her head towards little Alfred's, and rubbed her nose against his, making the baby giggle. The queen looked towards Merlin. "What do you think?"_

_"I think it's a great name, Gwen."_

_"Should I call in the others, your highness?" the midwife asked from the doorway._

_"Just a moment." Gwen gestured for Merlin to lean closer and she looked up at him. "Merlin," she began, almost shyly, "would you…be his godfather?"_

_Merlin blinked a moment in surprise. "Me?"_

_"I would trust no one more," Gwen said, "to keep him safe and make him a good man if I am not around. Please, Merlin."_

_His smile broadened and he nodded. "I would be honored."_

_Gwen smiled and looked back down at the baby. "Come on, Alfred," she whispered, shifting the bundle in her arms, "it's time to meet your godfather."_

 

__

 

_Merlin bent over the bed, allowed her to arrange Alfred comfortably in his arms, and then straightened up, his heart nearly stopping at the warm bundle shifting with total trust into his arms. The baby's skin was somewhere between the hues of his father and mother, although it was a shade closer to Gwen's smooth chocolate complexion. The tuft of hair was curly, and possibly blonde, but it was the eyes that made Merlin's heart stop in his chest. As he heard Percival and Leon being ushered in, along with Geoffrey, who was to chronicle the birth, Merlin looked into the eyes of the infant prince that were as blue and trusting as the eyes of his father._

"Merlin?"

Merlin shook himself from his thoughts and pulled his gaze from the drowsy baby in his arms to look towards the lake, where Freya was standing and looking fondly at him. "Freya," he breathed.

"The lake changed," Freya said matter-of-factly, moving closer to the lake's shore, "and I was about to see what happened when I felt you here." She came to the edge of the water and moved a hand to form a chair of lake water that pulled beside Merlin. "Is that-?" she began, placing a cool, wonderfully solid hand on Merlin's shoulder.

"Freya," Merlin paused, having to swallow a lump in his throat, "this is Arthur."

Her eyes sparkled, and she reached out a hand to brush back the tuft of blonde hair. "He's beautiful," she smiled, her fingers running over his plump cheek. "He looks a lot like his son." The two looked at each other and laughed a little at the phrase before Freya held out her arms. "May I?"

Minding his friend's head, Merlin moved the baby smoothly into his love's arms, which closed around the infant. As he was moved, Arthur let out a protesting whine, but soon settled into the inviting warmth and softness of Freya's body. Her gaze, already gentle, softened as she looked down at the infant, her brown hair falling across her face. Tiny fingers reached up curiously and wrapped around the strands of hair, pulling with interest.

Freya laughed, a melodious, light sound that made Merlin's heart ache with longing, and carefully disengaged the curious fingers. "Careful now," she whispered, smiling at the pouting baby.

Merlin watched his love holding the baby and had to blink back the sudden moistness in his eyes. Even if it hadn't been for the sheer awe for the vastness of his love's heart, as she was able to tenderly hold the man who had killed her, his eyes might still have brimmed with tears at the thought of her being a mother. Not for the first time, Merlin wondered what might have been if Freya had lived beyond the waves, if they had had a chance to be together. Would they have had children? Would she have looked like this holding their son? Would he have burned from the poignant combination of awe, love, and intense desire for the woman holding the baby so protectively in her arms?

He swallowed hard, and moved closer to Freya and Arthur, placing one arm around her shoulders and pulling her close until her head rested against his neck. Freya let out a noise between a sigh and a giggle and curled closer into Merlin's warmth, holding Arthur tightly.

"The wait is over," she smiled.

"Yeah," he took a deep breath, "it's over."

She leaned her neck to place a kiss on his neck, feeling the muscles beneath her lips quivering with emotion and exhaustion. "He's here."

Freya's body moved slightly as Merlin nodded. "He is," he replied, his voice tight and scratchy with restrained feeling. He pulled her closer, feeling the weight of her against him, and moved his fingers down to Arthur's tiny tuft of hair. The baby let out a confused cooing noise before relaxing from the touch and snuggling closer into Freya.

"Now what are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure," Merlin said, almost helplessly, "I never thought he'd come back…like this. I never planned for what to do with him as a baby." He laughed, a breathy, tear-tinged sound, "Freya, I can't believe he's really back!"

"I suppose it feels like old times, doesn't it?" she smiled. Merlin arched an eyebrow, and so she continued, "Look at yourself."

Merlin glanced down at himself. He could see the old familiar breeches, the blue tunic, the worn brown jacket, and the neckerchief peeking cheekily from below his chin. Arthur reached up his chubby fingers, grabbing a lock of Freya's hair and snagging onto the end of Merlin's neckerchief, laughing sleepily as he entwined them together.

"Guess it does," Merlin nodded.

"What now?"

Merlin pulled them still closer, and rested his head on Freya's hair. "I think," he said, slowly, "I need to find him a family. He never got to know his mother – not really," he cringed, remembering the ghostly form of Igraine in Morgause's castle, "and I think he'd be happier growing up with a mother and father who love him. I'm not sure I'd be enough."

"Merlin," Freya began, chiding, "you're more than enough."

The warlock shrugged, keeping the motion slight so as to keep from disturbing Arthur, who was falling asleep. "I still think it'd be better for him to be raised by a normal family. I'll watch over him, of course, but I guess I'll just have to see how much I can be in his life before he's grown. When he's the age he was when we first met," he nodded to himself, "that's when we can meet…as equals."

"Where will you find parents?"

Merlin bit his lip in thought. "There's an adoption agency a few towns south," he replied, yawning. "It's a good place to start."

Freya looked tenderly up at the drooping, bleary eyes of her love and pulled away from him. "Here," she said, placing Arthur firmly into Merlin's arms. "Take him. You both need some sleep."

"But-"

Freya leaned over and gently pressed on Merlin's shoulders until he was lying on the soft grass, a mound of flowers beneath his head. "Sleep," she commanded softly, "you're exhausted, Merlin."

"But-"

She traced her fingers lovingly over the curve of his cheekbones. "Just rest. I'll keep watch."

And she did until the golden beams of morning touched the tops of the lake and woke Merlin. After a long kiss and a fervent promise to return soon, Merlin carefully settled Arthur into his arms and left the Lake. As the two passed through the circle of trees together, it felt as though something was giving way when Merlin stepped from behind the bark into the grassy field the public could see. Merlin almost heard a sort of pop in the recesses of his mind and a strange twinge in his chest, and he rubbed his neck ruefully.

~.~

It was funny, Mrs. Gregory thought to herself, that she barely recognized the black-haired young man smiling apologetically on the doorstep of the house, a blonde baby in a carrier on his back. "I'm sorry I didn't give you more warning," the young man said, "but it was all unexpected. My sister's in hospital and, with her husband away, there's no one to look after the baby." He grimaced. "Please, can he stay with me? I promise I'll keep him quiet."

Mrs. Gregory would have been hard-pressed to deny anything to the beautiful blue-eyed infant blinking wonderingly from the carrier on her lodger's back, but one look at the beseeching expression on her lodger's face did the rest. "Certainly he can stay," she replied. "For how long will your sister be in hospital?" She thought of what she'd said and cringed at her social faux pas. "I'm sorry – how is your sister doing?"

"She'll be all right," her black-haired lodger grinned. "Just needs a tonsillectomy. Turns out all those sore throats she's had were because of an infection." He leaned forward, lowering his voice confidentially, "I always thought it was because she liked yelling at me, to be honest."

The landlady burst into laughter and the lodger smiled cheekily. "Thanks so much."

"No trouble," Mrs. Gregory said briskly, "but you must have dinner with me tonight. Make sure you feed that baby right!"

During supper that night, Mrs. Gregory enjoyed cooing over the baby as her lodger prepared the bottles. It had been ages since she'd had the chance to play with a baby – especially since her son and daughter were too busy with their job and college, respectively, to provide her with any grandchildren – and she thoroughly loved the toothless smile and gurgling laughter of the tiny infant. Once she looked up from the baby to see her lodger looking at him. There was affection in his eyes, but also an old wisdom and a look that something long awaited for had come. She had to blink back a few tears and wondered how long her boarder's sister had been trying to get pregnant.

She felt that it would be fine to let the baby stay for a few nights, she assured her older brother when they were having their weekly phone call. Her boarder was polite and quiet, and seemed very trustworthy and likable. "It's strange," she laughed as her brother asked how quiet her boarder was, "but if it wasn't for the signed agreement in my desk and the checks for the past two months' rent in the bank, it was like he wasn't here at all."

"Getting old, are you?" Her brother smirked through the phone, and she scowled.

"You're older than I am," she huffed, "Anyway, how's my favorite nephew?"

~.~

"S'pose turnabout's fair play," Merlin yawned, looking at Arthur who was giggling unrepentantly from the pile of blankets on the bed, "All those years waking you up – now you're keeping me up." He stretched his neck to one side, groaning as he felt the muscles pull and extend. "Although that was my job, you're just doing it to be mean."

Baby Arthur beamed and babbled, stretching his arms up towards Merlin, who felt his heart melting at the sight. "That," he said, picking up the baby, blankets and all, and tucking him securely into the crook of his arm, "is unfair."

The baby fussed a moment at the change in position before settling down, and Merlin took a moment to appreciate his foresight in putting up a silencing spell as soon as he entered the room. The landlady seemed a nice enough sort of woman, but anyone's patience would be tried by petulant cries when trying to sleep. Arthur gurgled pointedly, demanding Merlin's attention, and Merlin grinned down at him, shaking his head. "Demanding entertainment, your highness?" he teased, moving his free arm in front of him, sweeping his fingers in an arc to make circles of colored air hover above his hand.

Arthur clapped and laughed, and with a grin, Merlin made the circles of light grow larger and swoop in large arcs above their heads. The corners of the small room glowed with the different hues of light, illuminating the old but well-polished chest of drawers, bookshelves and bed. Shadows arched colorfully across the ceiling, lingering in the cracks of the stone overhead. Merlin made the light move faster and faster, almost juggling the colorful orbs in his hand.

_Merlin bowed before the gathering of royalty, knights, and the people of Caerleon, noticing some of the table servants looking at him with varying degrees of confusion and skepticism. Grinning almost secretly to himself, he pulled the egg from behind his back, and began to juggle._

_The gobsmacked look on Arthur's face nearly made his manservant burst out laughing, and he smiled almost shyly at the amused and impressed look Queen Annis was sending him. As he brought another egg into his juggling, he mentally laughed about how his friends could be fooled into thinking he had impressive sleight of hand when he still couldn't go through a hunt without crashing into something, and he wondered if he would be able to perform like this again in a few years... Maybe in a few years, he wouldn't have to turn around when he let his magic shine through his eyes. He wouldn't have to masquerade as a clumsy servant – even though he would serve Arthur always, until the end of his days. He wouldn't have to hide who he was._

_Some day…_

Sparks of multicolored light fell into Merlin's lap, and he hastily used the blanket to cover Arthur's face as he slowed the balls of light and diverted their paths. Uncovering the amused but indignant infant who clapped in the air for more flashes of light, Merlin looked down at his friend, his eyes blurring.

"The day came," he whispered hoarsely into the night, "but you weren't there anymore."

Arthur gave him a confused look, not understanding the sudden seriousness of the tone of the man with the pretty lights, but snuggled close and looked trustingly up with big blue eyes before closing them and going to sleep. Merlin let the water trickle down his face as he lay down in the bed, magicking the blanket to come up and cover them both.

"I'm glad you're back," he murmured, and then all was silence.

~.~

Armed with a fed Arthur, and a stack of buttered toast in a napkin for his breakfast supplied by Mrs. Gregory, Merlin set out walking from the boarding house to the adoption agency on the east side of town. The morning was pleasant, with the nip of coolness being warmed by the sun, and Arthur was distracted enough by the traffic and people walking by on the sidewalk that Merlin could focus some attention to eating his own breakfast.

Despite the weight of the baby on his back, Merlin's shoulders felt lighter than they had in eons. The waiting was over; Arthur had returned. Thoughts bounced in his head, reminding him that he would soon be saying goodbye again, but he ignored them. It wasn't a proper goodbye, not final; he would just be allowing Arthur to be raised by another, watching carefully over his friend and king as he grew into adulthood. In a way, it was the same as the centuries' long wait for Arthur to emerge from the waters of Avalon, but now he could see the face of his friend rather than wondering if fate was playing some sort of cruel joke on him by waiting eternally for a return that would never be.

Arthur giggled merrily as the cool breeze pulled at the tiny fringe covering the top of his forehead, and Merlin felt some suspicious wet bursts on the back of his neck. He reached back a hand and rubbed the skin curiously, feeling a wetness beneath his fingers. "Spit bubbles?" he asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow the infant couldn't see. Arthur laughed in response and Merlin shook his head. "You prat," he snorted with amusement.

With some nervousness, Merlin arrived at the door of the adoption agency, his hand gripping the door handle with such an intensity that it hurt. _Please,_ he mentally pleaded, _let me find the right ones. Please, I can't let him down._ Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and walked inside.

The matronly woman sitting behind the front desk looked up at the creaking of the door to see a boy in his late teens walking in, a baby strapped to his back. "Can I help you?" the woman asked, settling back in her chair.

"Yeah, um…" the teenager began, running one hand through his hair distractedly, "I have a project for school, and I'm supposed to look around the adoption agency. I have to tell the class about how people find adoptive parents and get adopted. Err," he began, "could I just have a look around?"

The woman behind the desk gave the teenager a disapproving look. "You really should have called in," she said. "There's a lot of private information around here, and we really need someone to walk around with you to protect our clients' privacy. Our number is on our website."

"Sorry," the teenager answered, scuffling his feet, "It's just…it's just that it's due tomorrow…"

The woman didn't hide her face in her hands, but it was a near thing – she had teenagers of her own. "Oh, for heaven's sake!" she exclaimed. "That's leaving it a bit late!"

The teenager shuffled his feet apologetically, the baby on his back giggling at the bouncing motion.

"You can't go back there," she continued, reaching below her in the desk and pulling out a stack of different colored pamphlets, "but you can look at these here. I can answer any questions you have."

"Oh," the teenager reached out tentatively, smiling as his fingers closed over the pamphlets, "thank you."

"Sit over there," the woman said kindly, gesturing over to a chair, "and your…"

"Nephew," the teenager answered.

"Nephew," the woman smiled, "can sit beside you. Does he have something to play with?"

"Um," the teenager put down the infant on the chair beside his and began shuffling through his knapsack, "got a teething ring…here…somewhere."

"Here-" the woman leaned over the counter, "-we have some rattles he can play with."

The teenager lifted up the baby so that the little arms could reach towards the rattle the woman was holding over the counter. As the tiny fingers closed over the handle, the infant showed both older people in the room a blinding grin before swinging the rattle with great enthusiasm. The woman let out a burst of laughter and the infant nearly preened, holding the rattle like a scepter as he presided over his court of two admirers.

After settling the baby securely in the seat beside him, the teenager began perusing the pamphlets he had been given, the room lapsing into silence as he read, the baby shook the rattle, and the woman behind the desk alternatively filed and made funny faces at the infant.

"Miss?" the teenager asked after a time. "Could I use your bathroom?"

"Yes, you can," she answered, looking down the hallway to the left of her desk. "Go down that hallway and it's the third door on your left. Should I look after your nephew for you?"

"Please," the teenager grinned with a sound of relief, "I'll try to be quick."

"Go on," the woman replied. "Just be sure to not go into any of the other rooms. Just the bathroom."

Merlin walked down the hallway, glancing back cautiously to see the woman behind the desk playing with Arthur. After taking an extra glance for luck, Merlin murmured a spell and watched time slow. His eyes continued to glow as he looked at every door in the hallway, peering through the wood and frosted glass to see the room's contents. A staff room, a room with chairs and couches, a room with a desk and two wooden chairs, a room with filing cabinets and thick books on the table…

Bingo, Merlin thought with pleasure, and with a wave of his hand the door unlocked and swung open, allowing him to slip inside. As the door closed soundlessly behind him, locking itself, Merlin walked towards the closest stack of filing cabinets and rested his hands on the cool metal, his fingers splaying out. Breathing slowly in and out, he could smell the paper and ink filling the room, and he let the smell and feel permeate his being.

And then he blinked and spread his arms out wide.

All of the filling cabinets fell open, their contents soaring into the air, the thick folders forming overlapping rings encircling his body like multiple manila-colored halos orbiting loosely around him. Merlin closed his eyes, placing his right hand on the folder closest to his chest.

_He could see a black-haired middle-aged woman sitting on the front step of her farmhouse, watching the crowds of her children running about in the grass, laughing uproariously in the sun. She smiled and got up to join them, wincing at the pops in her joints._

Merlin smiled but shook his head. The mother looked lovely, but she probably couldn't spare enough time for a baby. Besides, something was missing.

He sent the file to put itself neatly away in the cabinet and reached for the folder which had moved lazily from its arc and was brushing his ear.

_The red-haired man put down his briefcase in the alcove of his home as he shut the door behind him. A little girl ran towards him and sent him a few steps backward as she launched herself into his arms. He winced a little and laughed, hugging the girl tightly back before placing her on the floor. The little girl began walking towards the kitchen, dragging the man by the hand behind her. A woman with the little girl's eyes looked over from where she was stirring something over the stove and smiled. The smiles on both their faces were reserved but warm and Merlin wondered what had passed between them. At any rate, they seemed to be on the mend._

Merlin shook his head again and moved his hand to send the folder to settle neatly back in the filing cabinet. With a snap of his fingers, the remaining folders formed into twin rings around his torso and began rotating quickly in opposite directions. Placing his right hand on the top ring and his left hand on the bottom ring, Merlin closed his eyes and focused his every sense on the paper sliding and catching on his fingers. A blur of faces, of families, of feelings, rushed on by…

A golden spark shot through his entire body and Merlin's eyes popped open, stopping the paths of the folders with such force that the papers sticking from the papers rustled restlessly. His fingers nearly trembling, Merlin splayed the fingers of both hands on the folder directly in front of him and felt…

_The woman brushed back the lock of blonde hair that had fallen across her nose with the back of her paint-stained hand before putting her hands on her hips. She looked appraisingly at the painting on the easel, a depiction of a child holding a sparkler in his hand, silhouetted by the dark night exploding with the colors of a dozen fireworks._

_Two hands covered her eyes and she jumped with a slight scream. Her head began to tremble slightly as the one with hands over her eyes began laughing. The woman turned around to see a man with brown hair dressed impeccably in a suit with the tie loosened, and she punched him in the shoulder. His laughter didn't abate as he leaned forward to kiss her, making her cheeks redden pleasantly. Laughter could be heard outside and both walked over to the window. Some of the neighborhood children were kicking around a football and running from one end of the street to the other. The blonde-haired woman suddenly began to blink back tears and the man, noticing, pulled her close to him, pressing a kiss to her temple. She hugged him tightly, resting her head on his shoulder, and the two continued to watch the children playing._

"Perfect," Merlin whispered, "they'll be-"

It was really unfair that, after all the eons he'd been on the earth and even with the power he had as the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, he still had moments of clumsiness. Clutching the folder, he tripped over a cord on the floor and crashed into the filing cabinet.

"What?" He heard the lady from the front desk call. "What is that? Carl," she said, "go check that out, please."

"Yes, ma'am," a rough voice answered, and heavy-set footsteps, punctuated by the sound of rattling keys, echoed in the corridor outside. Ideas and plans and slight panic rushed through Merlin's mind and then he knew what had to be done.

His eyes glowed.

The custodian unlocked the door to the room with the cabinets and looked inside. He groaned, leaning against the doorjamb and rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. While the room certainly wasn't a mess, one of the cabinets must have been blown over because the cabinet was on its side and open, several folders scattered across the floor. Luckily, all of them still to have contained their contents, although they still would need to be filed away. "Miss Shell!" the custodian called out. "You need to come down here."

"Coming, coming," Ms. Shell said as she came closer. "Sorry, that young man with the baby was certainly taking the time in his bathroom." She saw the mess and sighed. "Oh wonderful. At least there are no assignments until later today, I can tidy this all up." She looked at the window that was open a crack and frowned. "Maybe you should repair that, Carl. I'd rather this not happen again."

"Yes, miss."

It only took an hour to put the cabinet back to rights, and luckily, nothing seemed to be missing.

Except for the picture of one prospective family. With the address hastily scrawled on the back.

That was in the pocket of the young man who walked away from the agency, grinning, with a baby on his back.

**Author's Note:**

> See that lovely artwork? It's courtesy of otterpop89 on Tumblr (http://otterpop89.tumblr.com) If you want to look at some of her art, click that link!
> 
> Also, thanks to CaptainOzone for her awesome beta work!


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